Staring Eyes
by Kelsey
Summary: Isabel deals with the drama in her life, or, in this case, doesn't.
1. Introduction--Max

****

Staring Eyes

by

[Princess McPhee][1]

Disclaimer: Not mine. UPN, WB, Jason Katims, all have some claim. I don't.

Author's Note: This is the third such fanfic in this vein, fifth if you include poetry. I'm still trying to deal with Alex's death and Tess's betrayal, because I was a loyal Stargazer and Rebel. (Those damn producers really messed me up!)

Summary: Summer post- S2. Isabel deals... but doesn't, really.

Rating: R

> Prologue-Introduction
> 
> Max
> 
> Her eyes are blank too often.
> 
> You know how people just close out sometimes, and their eyes, even though they're open, aren't actually looking at anything?
> 
> They look like they're looking through something.
> 
> Usually me.
> 
> I don't know what to do for her. It's been a long, hard summer for all of us, but luckily, no more enemies, no word from Tess, and no huge unveiling of secrets to the world in order to save lives. Most of us are content, if troubled, as usual.
> 
> But Isabel...
> 
> She's like this huge emptiness. She doesn't react to much of anything anymore. I think that Alex dying, coupled with the Tess and leave/don't leave fiasco, sapped all of her strength. She's retreated within herself for some reason, I'm not sure what it is.
> 
> She doesn't speak. Mom and Dad take her to a psychiatrist, who thinks that she's like this because her best friend and boyfriend were killed within months of each other. I almost laughed when they said this.
> 
> In truth, Isabel is a strong person. Alex's death left her with a huge hole, that she had been filling in, slowly, but assuredly. Tess's betrayal, among other things, cause that filling to collapse, and I can't help wishing occasionally that Tess had died, as opposed to what she did to our group.
> 
> The strain of leaving our parents, this entire world, also took a huge toll on her. But how's any psychiatrist supposed to know that? The only way she could help us is if we took her into our confidence, and we can't do that. It's too risky, for us and her. Not to mention that any therapist would simply assume that Isabel and I were suffering from some kind of mental illness. After all, aren't we crazy enough to be seen by her, even without this psychosis?
> 
> Our friends have been truly amazing. Liz and Maria have tried to draw Isabel out of her shell, but failed. Still, I was a little surprised, and very grateful that they tried. They don't know each other that well, but it was a kind gesture.
> 
> I think she's lost all confidence in our friends, though. She won't speak to me or Michael, and though I thought I heard her talking to Kyle once, when they were in the other room, they both deny it. Or, at least Kyle does. She didn't speak. 
> 
> Human or otherwise, I'm willing to accept that my hopes got the better of my hearing, though I wish it weren't so.

[Introduction] [[Silence][2]] [[Clouds][3]]

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   [1]: mailto:teneljade@netzero.net"
   [2]: http://www.geocities.com/princess_mcphee/staringeyes_silence.htm
   [3]: http://www.geocities.com/princess_mcphee/staringeyes_clouds.htm
   [4]: http://www.geocities.com/princess_mcphee/roswell.html
   [5]: http://www.geocities.com/princess_mcphee/rosfanfic.html



	2. Silence--Isabel

****

Staring Eyes

by

[Princess McPhee][1]

Disclaimer: Not mine. UPN, WB, Jason Katims, all have some claim. I don't.

Author's Note: This is the third such fanfic in this vein, fifth if you include poetry. I'm still trying to deal with Alex's death and Tess's betrayal, because I was a loyal Stargazer and Rebel. (Those damn producers really messed me up!)

Summary: Summer post- S2. Isabel deals... but doesn't, really.

Rating: R

> Chapter One- Silence
> 
> Isabel
> 
> We're on our way to the hospital right now. Not that it's a _hospital_, heaven forbid I call it that. It's a 'mental clinic'. They wanted to put me in a mental hospital, but Max swayed our parents. Good thing, too. 
> 
> Usually, I'm the driving force behind paranoid secrecy. At least, about everyone except our parents. But now... I just don't care enough. Max was really worried when I refused to comment even against going to a hospital, I could see it in his eyes. 
> 
> I didn't have to see it in Michael's eyes. I could hear it straight from his mouth.
> 
> Liz and Maria came over to talk to me, but ended up talking at me. I don't know why I don't talk, other than I just don't want to. It takes too much energy, and besides, talking is about communicating. I don't have any need or desire to communicate right now. What I need to do is think.
> 
> I spoke to Kyle. He was so sad, so scared that I would turn out like Alex, crying on my shoulder, that I couldn't remain impassionate. I held him and rocked him, all the while wondering if it was a mistake, but he proved my trust. He told Max I hadn't spoken. 
> 
> I haven't spoken to him again, but oddly, he's the only one who's stopped badgering me. He still comes over and carries on one-sided conversations with the side of my head, but every other sentence isn't "Come on, Isabel! Say something!", like everyone else's is.
> 
> They tell me that I'm a dysfunctional member of society, that I won't be able to take charge of my own life until I speak again. I smiled when they said that, though nobody but Max understood.
> 
> My life isn't my own. It never will be. Who gives a fuck if I'm a functional member of society, I'm not even a member of the human race. I come from a planet called Antar, which could be three-quarters of the universe away from here and completely the opposite of this place, for all I know.
> 
> I go to individual therapy sessions three times a week, and family therapy sessions twice a week. Every day except the weekend, which I'm free to spend any way I want, _except_ watching television, mindlessly surfing the 'Net, sitting in my room staring at the wall, basically anything that bothers my parents.
> 
> Anything that makes them lose hope. Anything that makes them think that their baby girl finally lost it.
> 
> Funny, isn't it? I've always been the pampered, younger one, though by our legal ages, I'm older than Max. 
> 
> I don't even know how old I am. Then again, there would be the controversy over whether I'm only as old as my human form, that I don't know the age of, or whether the 'essence' of Vilandra plays a part in my age. Whether there would be any knowledge of how old I am, since I wasn't born, there isn't a birthdate.
> 
> And the doctors wonder why my head's screwed up.
> 
> ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
> 
> My doctor's name is Susan Ross, and she's a nice, thirty-something woman with a dark blondish cap of very short hair. The first thing that she commented on during one of our family sessions was that she wished her hair was more the color mine is. My mother smiled, and a tear came to her eye, and she told the doctor about how she'd never thought it would stay the wonderfully golden color it was when she and my father had adopted me. It almost made me want to look at her, talk to her.
> 
> Max sat next to me today. He holds my hand, and I let him, because I don't care. He shifts in his chair throughout the hour, but I don't change position more than once. My mother holds my other hand, I have allowed my muscles to go limp and simply hang in her grip, though I know it bothers her.
> 
> Susan is saying something to my father, telling him and my mother and Max how to draw me out of my shell, to make me interested in something. I apologize if I don't find it fascinating.
> 
> Now she tries to talk to me. I hear her, but I'm just not interested. I don't care about much of anything now. The only guy I ever loved was killed by one of only three people on this planet I trusted completely. There were four, but she killed him, didn't she?
> 
> Then I was told that my brother's child wouldn't survive if I couldn't find the will to leave the only home and the only parents I'd ever known within twenty-four hours. I didn't want to go, but I wasn't brave enough to act on my will. Michael did. Michael figured out what he wanted, and he took it. I'm proud of him, and I envy him. He's stronger than I am, maybe stronger than Max, too.
> 
> And then suddenly, my life was back to normal, and everyone expected me to just accept that and go on with my life. I couldn't do it. I couldn't pretend to mourn Tess, and I couldn't put on an act while desperately attempting to figure out my own head. Plus the shock of it all, and the reality of Alex's death.
> 
> One moment, I was completely overwhelmed and crying and frantic and not sure what to do, and the next I just didn't care. Nothing mattered, and it felt like a cloud that I was floating on. Nothing makes any difference. 
> 
> I still care for my friends and family, but they know that, and I have no need to tell them again. Right now, I'm going to enjoy this blessed silence in my head, and the much-needed break from the chaos of being half-alien on a human world not even aware of our existence. 
> 
> "Isabel?" Susan asks.
> 
> I look right through her, and imagine that I can see the wall on the other side of her body.
> 
> ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
> 
> It's night now, and I'm stretched out on my bed, staring at the ceiling. The house is dark, everyone else has gone to bed. I can hear my brother's uneasy sleep on the other side of the wall, and my father's soft snores, but neither bother me, because though I hear them, I don't really register them.
> 
> My mother cried through our session today. Susan said she'd never seen me more unresponsive, and suggested them mental hospital again. Max pushed them out of it, but they said if I get any worse, that's where I'm going. I should care, but I don't.
> 
> When the tears rolled down my mother's face, I felt a flash of something. But it felt more like a memory than an emotion. It was the memory of the way it hurt me to cause pain for those I loved. But that was all it was. A memory. And though I felt like I should do something, I didn't.
> 
> I didn't feel anything at all when my mother sobbed over me.
> 
> Max came in tonight to try and reason with me. He told me that if I didn't display some kind of improvement, then Mom and Dad would put me in a mental hospital, and that posed too high a risk to take. He even reached over and shook me, hard, but I didn't really feel it, either.
> 
> There's something in my head, something behind this gray cloud that surrounds my thoughts, that's telling me I should care, I should worry about being exposed, but I can't pull it away. I don't really want to, either. This peace and quiet of mind is what I've craved since the moment I realized Max and I were different.
> 
> I haven't spoken again since I comforted Kyle about a week ago. Even now, thinking back on the memories, I'm not really sure why I did so. I see the scene in my head, but I don't remember what my thoughts were. Only that he was crying, and for some reason, I came out of my shell to assure him I was alright.
> 
> Maria and Liz have stopped coming so often. I heard Max talking to them, begging them to keep coming, but they told him it was obvious they weren't helping. They still show up here about every other day.
> 
> Michael only comes every once in a while, and his methods of trying to get me to 'snap out of it' vary greatly depending on his current mood. Sometimes, he almost cries while he begs me, telling me how hard this is on my friends and family, and other times he tells me I'm a selfish bitch and I should know better. 
> 
> Neither approach evokes any emotion in my head.
> 
> The days speed by, covered by a sort of foggy haze. I register that my existence in this state is kind of meaningless, but the voices of paranoia and anger and hate and love and jealousy and all those warring emotions are silent, and the peace is so great that I don't care about anything else.

[[Introduction][2]] [Silence] [[Clouds][3]]

[Back to _The Palace of the Royal Four_][4]

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   [1]: mailto:teneljade@netzero.net
   [2]: http://www.geocities.com/princess_mcphee/staringeyes_intro.htm
   [3]: http://www.geocities.com/princess_mcphee/staringeyes_clouds.htm
   [4]: http://www.geocities.com/princess_mcphee/roswell.html
   [5]: http://www.geocities.com/princess_mcphee/rosfanfic.html



	3. Clouds--Kyle

****

Staring Eyes

by

[Princess McPhee][1]

Disclaimer: Not mine. UPN, WB, Jason Katims, all have some claim. I don't.

Author's Note: This is the third such fanfic in this vein, fifth if you include poetry. I'm still trying to deal with Alex's death and Tess's betrayal, because I was a loyal Stargazer and Rebel. (Those damn producers really messed me up!)

Summary: Summer post- S2. Isabel deals... but doesn't, really.

Rating: R

> Chapter Two-Clouds
> 
> Kyle
> 
> My relationship with my father is just a little strained at this point, what with him completely frustrated by his inability to do anything. And, of course, if anyone (namely me) points out that there isn't anything he _can_ do, he bites their head off. This is the first time that he hasn't been able to provide assistance in an alien-related crisis, and he isn't taking it well.
> 
> Isabel remains unresponsive. Sometimes, it actually makes me mad. Makes me upset that she thinks she's the worst off about this. That she's the only one affected by Alex's death. He was probably my best friend, too, and it's selfish and bitchy and obnoxious that she thinks hers is the only head that's completely upside-down.
> 
> But most of the time, I'm just scared. We lost Alex, and learned that Tess betrayed us. Isabel is my last link to the pod squad. I've never been on good terms with Max or Michael, and I don't really know Maria. Liz, I dated for a while, but I didn't ever really get to know her until recently. And now, she and I don't do much, if anything, together.
> 
> So, Isabel is the only person who's here to keep me from severing all ties with the group. And that means that she's the last of my true friends. The last of my 'friends' that care about who I am inside, rather than just who I am on the court or in the field. The only person left who can help me figure out who I am, and what I'm here for.
> 
> The last person who won't judge me when I need help figuring out what is wrong in my messed-up head.
> 
> So, I got a little upset when she wouldn't speak to me. When she first went on this crusade, I thought that she was mad at Max and her parents, and maybe Michael, because he's usually Max's right-hand man. But I started freaking out when she wouldn't talk to me, because she's never done that. Sometimes she tells me to buzz off, or bite it, but she's never ignored me the way she did that day, before.
> 
> ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
> 
> I'd gone home in shock after pleading with her to speak to me for at least three hours. We'd watched a movie, and I'd carried on a one-sided conversation again before I went. That was when I gave up, and left the house, a sort of stupefied look on my face, I'm sure.
> 
> I gave up summer sports to spend more time with her. The only team I stayed on was track. I'm a jock, I can't stop exercising even if I try, it's physically impossible for me. If I _were_ to try, I'd end up crazy. 
> 
> Not that I'm not, already.
> 
> Anyway, I went to the Evans' house every day. Isabel never obviously responded to me, but some days, her eyes would seem to be looking at me for a fleeting second before they passed through my flesh and bone, and weren't really focused on anything. It had encouraged me, but a couple of weeks after this all started, she'd stopped showing any sign of interaction.
> 
> I cried that day, begging her to stay with me, asking her to come back to me. Telling her that Alex had been my best friend, and Tess my only sister, and that I didn't want to lose the last person in the world who I could count on. 
> 
> For a long time, I thought she wasn't going to do anything, like usual, but then, her eyes came gradually together to look at me, slowly, like it was hard for her. "Isabel?" I'd whispered, sure that my luck wasn't that great.
> 
> She looked at me, and traced the lines of my cheek with her thumb. "Kyle," She'd responded quietly. 
> 
> Throwing my arms around her, my tears of pain and frustration had turned to joy as she hugged me back, squeezing me tightly and telling me that she wouldn't leave like Alex and Tess, that she wouldn't betray me.
> 
> Pulling back from her a little, I'd looked her in the eye, glad to see into those brown depths clearly for the first time in weeks. They'd been cloudy and unfocused since this started, and I wanted the mental imprint of Isabel's clear, profoundly sharp gaze burned on my corneas forever.
> 
> "Why?" I asked softly.
> 
> She shrugged, and turned away from me a little. "I can't really explain."
> 
> "Try," I pleaded. "Please?"
> 
> She nodded, and turned back to face me. She didn't meet my eyes, though. 
> 
> "It's like... it's like floating in a cloud, Kyle. There's no paranoia, no anger at Tess or my brother, no pain for Alex, no confusion about my heritage and my place on earth. It all goes away, and my head is just so... peaceful.
> 
> "I don't want to hurt anybody, but when I'm like that, I just don't care. Kyle, I _can't_. I _can't_ care. Something is keeping me from it, and I should care, but I don't. I've never been this content."
> 
> She looked at me for a long moment, and then there's the unmistakable sound of a key in a lock. The front door lock. Max was home.
> 
> She looked at me frantically. "Kyle, please don't tell him," She begged.
> 
> "Why?" I asked quizzically. Max, of all people, would be happy that his sister was. He knew there was way too much pressure on her, much too few chances to be carefree and happy.
> 
> She looked at me, hurried but clearly wanting to get her message understood. "Because, Kyle, I've never felt this way before, and if my brother tries to mess with it, he might ruin it." She took a deep breath, obviously trying to calm herself enough to get the message across. I watched her eyes refocus a little as she regained some kind of control, and decided that she was lucid enough to tell me what was right for her. I listened as she reasoned with me anyway, though.
> 
> "Kyle, I'm tired of being scared. I'm tired of being freaked out my mind and unable to stop my tears about Alex and my rage for Tess. I just want it to all go away. And that's what this does." She begged me with her eyes, pleading harder than any words could.
> 
> I nodded, hesitantly. I wasn't sure this was the brightest idea in the world, but Isabel deserved a chance to be happy more than any other person I can think of, and I wanted to help her. And Max does have a habit of sticking his nose where it doesn't belong.
> 
> Isabel sat back in the chair, and took a few deep breaths. In seconds, her eyes unfocused, and her body relaxed. It was creepy, almost as though her body was being taken over by some other creature. 
> 
> I almost broke my promise when Max came dashing into the room, asking if she'd spoken, but Isabel needed the break, and I, of all people, knew that.
> 
> "No," I told him, avoiding his eyes guiltily, praying he wouldn't notice.
> 
> Max's eyes fell. "Are you sure?" He asked. 
> 
> I didn't want to hurt him anymore, didn't want to hurt anyone, but a promise was a promise.
> 
> "Yeah."
> 
> He nodded dejectedly. "Okay. Thanks for staying with her this afternoon, Kyle." 
> 
> I had offered to baby-sit Isabel so that he could go out, for the first time in a least a week, I knew.
> 
> "You're welcome. Let me know if you want me to do it again."
> 
> He nodded, and I wandered out the door, more confused than ever, but also sure I'd made the right decision. Isabel needed a little peace, and something in those eyes, something told me that she was still rational, still capable of making thought-out choices.
> 
> At least when she isn't in that creepy, foggy state.
> 
> But now, I'm not sure. She's only getting worse, slipping farther away, and Max's parents are going to send her to a mental hospital if we don't do something soon. Maybe I should tell the 'king'. 
> 
> A little voice in my head reminds me that a promise is still a promise. _You made a pact, Kyle. You can't break it._
> 
> But there's something more than a little creepy about what's going on with Isabel. She acts like she's been taken over by something, something other than just her grief and fear. Maybe there really is something. Maybe I should tell Max, so that he can help.
> 
> I just can't bring myself to disrupt Isabel's sole chance to escape it all on the off-chance that Max can do something to help, that he hasn't already tried.
> 
> ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
> 
> Anyone else probably would have told Max, and Isabel knows it. I guess that's why she trusted me with her secret, and not someone else. They all would have meant well, but they still would have told her brother.
> 
> But I know what that pain feels like. I know how that horrible betrayal makes your head itch with anger, but at the same time, a hurt that's deeper than soul-deep. And a confusion about who she really was, whether you were really blind enough to let such a blatant liar fool you, or if maybe, she wasn't always really that person.
> 
> Coupled with the pain of Alex's death, I'm certainly screwed up enough at the moment. Isabel's even worse off, though. She has the whole alien angle on this to deal with. She almost left this _planet_, for God's sake. She said good-bye to everyone she knew, and she was about to leave the only home she'd known, the only parents she'd ever had. It couldn't have been easy.
> 
> And that's why I'm not going to tell Max. Because I'm the only other person who understands what Isabel's going through, and I can't betray her. 
> 
> I'm going to see her this afternoon. I go to her house at least every day, usually two or three times. Sometimes I show up in the morning, and don't leave until late at night. The Evans' said I spend more time in their home than Max does these days. They joked about collecting friends of their kids, saying that Michael used to practically live at their home, too.
> 
> They asked if I knew anything about why Michael had stopped visiting so much this summer. I hesitated, and then told them that it probably had something to do with a little blond pixie girl named Maria. They smiled, and laughed a little, and I hope it doesn't get back to Michael that I told them.
> 
> Isabel came with me, like usual, without a fight. Everything went pretty much how I'd expected, how it usually did.
> 
> At the beginning, I'd hoped that being stared at and avoided like a criminal would draw her out of her shell, force her to act more normal, but as usual, what other people thought had no effect on the former Ice Queen of West Roswell High.
> 
> On these long walks, I have a lot of time to think. I have to watch out for Isabel, she's like a little child, walking into streets and people if you don't steer her, but still, there's a lot of empty time in my head, and a lot of the time, I ponder my relationship with her, whatever it may be.
> 
> I've been asked more than once if I'm dating her. Usually the girls ask that question, though. The guys always want to know if I've 'banged' or 'fucked' or 'screwed' her. I can't believe I used to consider those people friends.
> 
> I tell them to buzz off when they ask questions like that. I tell the school gossips to get lost, and the awe-eyed, drooling sophomore cheerleaders to back off, and the gang that it's 'none of their fucking business'. I don't usually talk like that, in fact I'm kind of a gently-spoken person, but it takes what it takes to get the message across and through the extremely dense skulls of some of the guys I hang out with.
> 
> The rumors are everything from me taking advantage of her state, to her faking this so that she and I can hang out a lot without suspicion. Isn't it amazing how the rumors live on, even through the summer?
> 
> Personally, I don't have a clue how I feel about my blond beauty. Obviously, I think she's gorgeous, and I do feel possessive towards her, as well as an intense need to protect her. But I can't quite figure out if my feelings are of the sisterly nature, or the best-friend nature, or maybe even the romantic nature.
> 
> I hope they're best-friend type. I couldn't deal with another 'sister', and I don't want to have to deal with romantic feelings right now. Especially when she couldn't really be considered an active participant in our relationship, whatever it may be.
> 
> God, maybe I should be going to a therapist, too.

[[Introduction][2]] [[Silence][3]] [Clouds]

[Back to _The Palace of the Royal Four_][4]

[Back to _The Palace of the Royal Four_ Fanfic][5]

   [1]: mailto:teneljade@netzero.net
   [2]: http://www.geocities.com/princess_mcphee/staringeyes_intro.htm
   [3]: http://www.geocities.com/princess_mcphee/staringeyes_silence.htm
   [4]: http://www.geocities.com/princess_mcphee/roswell.html
   [5]: http://www.geocities.com/princess_mcphee/rosfanfic.html



	4. Whispers--Isabel

****

Staring Eyes

by

[Princess McPhee][1]

Disclaimer: Not mine. UPN, WB, Jason Katims, all have some claim. I don't.

Author's Note: This is the third such fanfic in this vein, fifth if you include poetry. I'm still trying to deal with Alex's death and Tess's betrayal, because I was a loyal Stargazer and Rebel. (Those damn producers really messed me up!)

Summary: Summer post- S2. Isabel deals... but doesn't, really.

Rating: R

> ****
> 
> Chapter Three-Whispers
> 
> Isabel
> 
> The only time I feel anything, is in my dreams, and usually I wish I didn't. But tonight, I'm grateful for the bursts of emotion that come with the actions in my dream world. I'm grateful tonight because Alex visited.
> 
> Alex visits me once in a while, maybe twice a week, and when he does, it both aches more than any physical pain ever could, and fills the void within me deep enough so that it's overflowing. I could never make any sense of my emotions with Alex around. I guess I don't do any better in the dream world.
> 
> He comes tonight in a dream replica of my own room. Usually, the scene is an empty Crashdown, but when my psyche feels like creating a more intimate environment, we've occasionally ended up here, before. He's sitting on the bed, holding me, and I don't think I've felt this safe in months.
> 
> I know it's a dream. It will end, probably with my mother awakening me, but I've learned to savor them while I can. Alex is gone, and is never going to come back, so if a few stolen moments of twisted reality are all that I can steal, I make do. 
> 
> "Alex," I whisper, my voice thick with emotion.
> 
> He doesn't respond, just leans down and kisses the top of my head. He strokes my long blond hair, something he's always done in the past when he's calm. Right now, I can see that he is at peace, content to merely hold me in his arms. For a few long moments, I am too, as I luxuriate in the feel of his body against mine.
> 
> Then, it's not enough anymore, and I turn a little, pulling his head down to mine. Kissing him softly, I draw back long enough to think for a moment.
> 
> In the real world, each kiss we shared was different. There was a new feeling to every time our lips met. In this dream world, the same is true, though I know my mind makes up the sensations, since Alex isn't even really here.
> 
> His hands travel down my body, resting his hands just under the material at the back of my shirt. His thumb caresses the soft skin on the small of my back, and I smile into his mouth. I can remember Alex telling me more than once that my clean, soft skin was his idea of pure heaven.
> 
> I wish he were really here, so that he could really feel my skin.
> 
> He kisses me more passionately, and I marvel at the inventiveness of the mind. We've never made out this fervently in the past, so the creation of the very real-feeling sensations are completely up to my rather naive head. But then his tongue does a little trick with mine, and I forget completely that I was thinking about anything.
> 
> He pulls back, panting a little. "I love you, Isabel," He tells me with emotion shining in his eyes.
> 
> My own brown eyes tear up a little as I respond to his outpouring of love. "I love _you_, Alex."
> 
> I'm not sure what we'll do tonight. Somehow, it seems wrong, or maybe impossible or just taboo to sleep with someone in a dream. Especially when that person is dead. But I can see the lust in his eyes, and feel it in my own. I stare into his eyes for reassurance, and what I see calms me.
> 
> Alex's eyes speak to me. They always have. I never have to ask him what he's thinking, I can just see it. He knows it too, and when he was alive, he used to make use of it, used to search for my gaze when he wanted to tell me something. And now, I can see a message clearly reflected in his bright eyes:
> 
> _Don't worry, Isabel. _They say._ You control this, we'll stop wherever you're not comfortable, I promise._
> 
> He smiles at me, and pulls me back against him once again. I can't say I really fought it.
> 
> ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
> 
> In the morning, I awaken groggily, stretching a little. Mom let me sleep in again, she says because there wouldn't be anything for me to do if I did get up. Max tells me that she doesn't get me up, because she can't bear to watch me be that unresponsive. I'm not sure if he's telling the truth.
> 
> That alone, bothers me more than all our other relationship problems. The fact that I can no longer tell if my brother is lying is a devastating blow, and it scares me sometimes. Actually, most of the time. I'm almost glad that this trance came upon me, because when I can feel nothing, I feel none of the confusion and pain and anger and care that my brother's mere presence wracks upon me on a daily basis.
> 
> But today, I feel something. Not terribly much, but an inkling that feeling is coming back to my brain, like your foot just barely starting to tingle as it awakens after you've sat on it for an hour. I try to figure out what's going on in my head, but draw a blank. 
> 
> Sitting up, I feel a soreness between my legs, and a tiny flight of despair and longing washes over me. I guess you've figured out that I overcame my conceptions about dream-sex, but I'm surprised to find a physical sensation in the waking world.
> 
> Assuming it's a psychological response, I swing my legs to the side of the bed and reach for my clothing. I pull a shirt over my head, and my panties off my legs, ready to replace them with new underwear. 
> 
> Noticing the blood on them, I do a quick mental calculation. No, that's not it, the date's way, way off. Plus, it's almost dry, and much too small an amount. 
> 
> Something is itching at me, but I deny it, refusing to believe it's possible. Shaking my head in refusal, I finish dressing, wincing as I am forced to lift each leg into my pants. Ordinary jeans don't look like they'll work today, and I am forced into stretch leggings.
> 
> All morning, which I spend in front of the television, my mind churns a million miles per hour. I know that some semblance of feeling has been restored to me, because curiosity is an emotion, and also because I actually watch the television, no matter how neutrally I may do so.
> 
> I meet my mother's eyes for a second, and she looks ecstatic, ready to tell the neighborhood, but then they go blank again, and though she looks terribly hurt, I just don't care. 
> 
> But something inside me is battling this mysterious neutrality. The psychologist told my parents that this was likely brought on by extreme stress, and that when I had dealt with some of the issues, and was able to cope with the rest, it would likely go away on it's own. 
> 
> If only she knew how much stress she was talking about.
> 
> The rest of the day goes by in a blur, which is surprising to me, too. Usually, these days, every detail of the day is marked in my mind, fixed on my memory. With nothing to think about really going on in my head, I guess my mind concentrates on the physical things. But not today. Now, it's one big blur.
> 
> Kyle comes over partway through the day, and talks to me while we watch television. I don't reply, but when my mother leaves the room, I lie down, and put my head on his lap. His eyes light up like a Christmas tree, and for a minute, I worry about encouraging his unrealistic hopes, but then I don't think about it again.
> 
> I know I'm using him. And it's not right, and I hate it when I actually think about it, but most of the time I don't. It feels so good just to lay myself in his arms, close my eyes, and pretend, even for a minute, that he's Alex. It's unfair, but I can't help it. I miss Alex so much.
> 
> ~~~~~~~~~~~
> 
> Today, that dream is eating at me again. I just can't seem to make it go away. And the physical that accompanied the dream really made it bother me. The pain went away gradually, as any pain does, not suddenly, like a psychologically induced pain. The crusty blood fell off, and walking up and down the stairs got easier. 
> 
> It's been a week, and I've dreamed of Alex again, but never as vividly as that one night. The Alex in my mind more recently is a hollow persona that I would never dream of losing my virginity to. The Alex I lost it to, was the full-bodied, completely souled person that I knew in the real world. The only way that I can describe it is... he was much more _real_ than the ones I dream up.
> 
> I've seen this personification of Alex once before. The night after he died, I dreamed about him, and he told me that he loved me, and he wouldn't want to be in the dreams in my head. That way my Alex. That was my boyfriend.
> 
> The idea that Alex may be alive has been weighing on my mind. The foggy, emotionless state in which I've been existing is fading, and I'm powerless to stop it. Sometimes I miss it, but mostly I want it to be gone, so that I can figure out what really happened to Alex.
> 
> I can't control it, though. When it takes me into its grasp, I'm powerless.
> 
> Kyle is the only person who still sits with me and spends time with me. Max has spent very little time at the house lately, and Maria and Liz haven't visited. Even my own parents only spend time with me occasionally. But I know that Kyle has noticed something. He's been watching me much more carefully, lately, and I think he sees something, something that says I'm coming out of it.
> 
> I don't care.
> 
> I said I wanted to stay this way forever, where there was no pain over Alex's death, Tess's betrayal, but I don't. It was a nice retreat, but I want to feel again. I want to _live_. And as I was in that catatonic state, I'm nothing more than a semi-aware vegetable.
> 
> A lot like a robot.
> 
> My mother comes in to turn off the light, like she always does, because although I get myself ready for bed, for some reason, I always leave the light on. Tonight, I have enough control that I could turn it off, but I don't want to alert her that way. I want to tell her.
> 
> She kisses my forehead, and I focus my eyes on her blue ones. She looks hopeful, but scared of expecting too much, and continues tucking me in, and re-arranging the things that I moved out of place today. She's about to leave, before I speak. 
> 
> "I love you, Mom."
> 
> At first, I don't think she heard me. I spoke whisper-soft, but I know loudly enough that she understood. I watch her as she stops what she's doing, and turns to look at me. I meet her eyes, and she rushes to my side, tears in her own eyes. 
> 
> She calls excitedly for my father and Max, her gaze never leaving mine. She kisses my cheeks, and I offer her a small smile. She hugs me, and just holds me tight for a long moment.
> 
> I really missed this.
> 
> And what's scarier than that...
> 
> I didn't realize that I missed it, until just now.

[[Introduction][2]] [[Silence][3]] [[Clouds][4]] [Whispers]

[Back to _The Palace of the Royal Four_][5]

[Back to _The Palace of the Royal Four_ Fanfic][6]

   [1]: mailto:teneljade@netzero.net
   [2]: http://www.geocities.com/princess_mcphee/staringeyes_intro.htm
   [3]: http://www.geocities.com/princess_mcphee/staringeyes_silence.htm
   [4]: http://www.geocities.com/princess_mcphee/staringeyes_clouds.htm
   [5]: http://www.geocities.com/princess_mcphee/roswell.html
   [6]: http://www.geocities.com/princess_mcphee/rosfanfic.html



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